


She Is Gone But She Used To Be Mine

by tommyshepherdd (atimeforflores)



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Sickfic, vomit cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atimeforflores/pseuds/tommyshepherdd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda didn't exactly think of herself as mother material but she supposes everything is a little bit of trial and error.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Is Gone But She Used To Be Mine

She caught him outside her house the first time in the beginning of May. It had been a bright morning, the sunshine cutting through the thin curtains of her apartment’s windows and of course landing right on her face until she was no longer able to roll over and ignore it. She shuffled to the kitchen, pausing to look at her own sleepy face in the hallway mirror- the one Pietro had bought her so many years ago that had  _ Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all!  _ written on it in flowery script -before continuing her trek to her beloved cappuccino machine in her broom closet of a kitchen. She really was only made aware of him outside her door because Purrtro was scratching at it again, the way he did if old man Martin from down the hall got confused again and was trying to get into the wrong apartment, or when the cats from 4B decided to have their weekly orgy on her fire escape. 

 

Peering through the peephole she was surprised to see a head full of white blocking her view, for a minute thinking it was Pietro; but it couldn’t be, since he was still mad at her for spilling the beans to Lorna. It was really his own fault for not telling her when he had the chance. And also for drinking the last of her imported Nicaraguan coffee.

 

She quickly opened the door, happy for once that she forgot to lock it the night before and was met with the wide eyes of her son- well, soul-son. Tommy gave a squeak of fright, before running off. She scratched at her head, wondering exactly what had happened when her fingers got caught in the braided mess; she was roughly extracting them when her gaze was caught on the giant bouquet that was left on her doorstep. It was beautiful, all bright and blooming flowers in what looked like a hand crafted vase. Lifting it off the ground her gaze was once again pulled away, this time to the innocent little card nestled under a tiger lilly. 

 

_ Hey soul mama,  _ it began,  _ I hear it’s a very special day for people like you. Meaning moms. Happy Mother’s day! Love, Billy and Tommy. _

 

She told Ms. Gutierro from 3E that the tears in her eyes were from a mild pollen allergy as she hurried back inside, setting the flowers proudly on her coffee table. She glared at Purrtro, telling him that he was under no circumstances to touch them. She was too busy to notice the young speedster watching from her fire escape, a small smile that matched her’s firmly in place.

 

…

 

She comes back to her apartment one night in June to find him having a staring contest with her cat, Purrtro on the couch and Tommy sitting on the floor. Neither blinked as she came in, arms full of cat food and take out. 

 

“What’s his name?” Tommy asked, apparently losing or just plain ending the staring contest while she went into the kitchen to grab two forks and dump some of cat food into the barren bowl.

 

“Purrtro.” She answered, refusing to blush in front of her son because of a cat that she had rescued when almost black out drunk.

 

Tommy nodded like it was the most important thing in the world. “If you get another one you should name it Tummy.”

 

And then he ran out of her apartment, leaving behind a flurry of papers she had been working on in his wake. She sighed tiredly, too stressed to pick up the mess. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that she found the crayon drawing that she knew wasn’t there before. There were two little stick people, one with light hair and one with dark, and then what seemed to be a woman in between them.  _ My imaginary family, _ was written on the back with a childish scrawl,  _ Tommy Shepherd, age 6 ½. _

 

She hung it up on her fridge.

 

…

 

She was almost used to the visits when there was a knock at her door in late July. Tommy had been there the night before, complaining about training regimens and people with order hard-ons. The last thing she was expecting when she opened her door was Billy and his boyfriend, however.

 

It did make her feel a little better to see them look equally shocked, Teddy’s mouth hanging open unattractively until he snapped it shut. 

 

“This is where Tommy has been sneaking off to?” He whispered to Billy, though not very well. Billy stared at her, large brown eyes that she knew were a mirror of her own.

 

She raised one sculpted eyebrow, pushing back the urge to usher them inside and smother Billy with hugs or kisses or any sort of affection. Tommy had ran out the first time she pulled him into a hug and might as well have passed out the first day she kissed his forehead as he was saying his goodbyes.

 

“Can we come in, err, Wanda?” Billy asked, cheeks burning bright as he shuffled from foot to foot. She opened the door wider, gesturing them in with an amused snort. Teddy avoided her gaze as he hunkered down in on himself like he was afraid he wouldn’t fit through the door frame. She let out another snort as she walked over to her couch and made herself comfortable, Purrtro jumping in her lap as she slammed the door with a wave of the hand.

 

Billy leaned against her wall, right beside the little TV Tommy had somehow convinced her to buy. Teddy explored a little bit, fingers skimming over books she had stacked on the dining table and taking in the assortment of take out menus impressingly collected on her fridge. He froze, one hesitant hand touching Tommy’s old drawing and the mother’s day card she had pinned up after the flowers died; she had gotten a picture of them that she used as her lock screen.

 

“How can I help you boys?” She asked, breaking the silence. She knew that they weren’t ones to make social calls, unlike Tommy who was now frequenting her house any time he got bored.

 

Billy shifted, looking like the kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “We just noticed that Tommy wasn’t hanging around as much as he used to.”

 

“And?” She had almost re-perfected her stern mom voice by now. 

 

“So we may have put a tracking spell on him, so here we all?” Teddy finished, shrugging his shoulders while he grimaced.

 

“Oh.” She said, wondering what she was supposed to say next. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

 

Billy laughed so hard he fell over, almost taking the TV with him. 

 

…

 

Tommy came over again the next month, bags under his eyes way too large and sounding more exhausted than she would have liked.

 

“‘m _ fine _ .” He slurred, slumping into her side as she surprised him with her new purchase of Netflix. He muttered protests as she put on Legally Blonde, but had quieted by the time Warren dumped Elle. Wanda could hear small snuffles coming from him before the first class at Harvard had even started. She looked down at him, a smile forming when she saw him passed out with his face smushed on her shoulder. She gently pushed the hair from his face, smile softening as he unconsciously leaned into the touch. 

 

It was right after Elle said the cabana boy was gay when the flinches started, Tommy letting out little whimpers. His arm that had been carelessly thrown across her side had begun to fist the material of her shirt.

 

“Tommy, baby.” She whispered, shifting so he was more or less lying down across her, “Wake up, honey.”

 

He whimpered again, turning his head to bury it in her stomach as if he was hiding from something. He looked younger for a moment, as he curled in on himself. 

 

“Tommy, you gotta wake up.” She tried again, feeling his forehead which was a little too warm for her liking. He pushed into the touch for just a second, letting out little huffs of breath.

 

He cried out then, whole body going tense as if he was electrocuted before his eyes flew open. They narrowed on her face, relaxing almost instantly. “Mommy?” He slurred deliriously. 

 

“Yeah, baby.” She choked back a sob, “Mommy’s here.”

 

Tommy lifted one hand, eyes clouded with sickness, as he cupped her face, “‘Kay.” He muttered, once again turning his head to nuzzle into her stomach. “S’good.”

 

She felt tears running down her face as he fell asleep, lip beginning to bleed as she tried to keep her own cries at bay. She got up,  gently putting a pillow under his head and tucking him in with the softest blanket she could find. She passed the mirror again as she walked to her room.  _ Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all. _

 

She sure as hell hoped not. She wasn’t going to lose her kids, not again.

 

…

 

The next morning she got up early, bones aching as she pulled herself up with a minimal amount of rest. She was slightly surprised to see Tommy still on her couch, him never having spent the night before. He looked peaceful, though the sheen of sweat on his forehead and flushed cheeks ruined the image. 

 

Purrtro was sitting on Tommy’s chest, stretched out over his whole abdomen. The tabby was purring and occasionally getting up from his spot to chew on Tommy’s hair before settling down again. Wanda sat down in the large recliner that was nestled away in the corner across from the couch, deciding to close her eyes for just a moment.

 

She was jolted awake by horrible retching noises, eyes snapping open to see Tommy half off the couch and violently vomiting all over her new shag rug. For a moment she was terrified, Tommy’s face turning a bright red from exertion and coughing up the last of whatever he had eaten before he had come to her flat the night before. She had always heard the horror stories of kids drowning in their own throw up, too small or sick to lift her heads. Tommy, though, pushed his body back on the couch with a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan.

 

Wanda rushed to the kitchen, pulling the first cup she found in her cabinet out to fill it with water. Her hands started to shake when she saw it was the old novelty Vision one she had gotten, right after the twins were born. She stared for for a second and then two, remembering pushing the boys around in a stroller through Wal Mart when it had caught her eye, sitting proudly on the highest shelf. She had of course bought it, along with a Quicksilver one which had since gone missing. 

 

She was brought out of her memories when she heard loud sobs coming from the living room, running back into the little room not caring about the water sloshing out of the cup and all over her floors. She found Tommy still on the couch, one arm thrown over his face as if to block the light while the other twisted itself into the blanket she had draped over him the night before. His whole body arched, the white haired boy writhing under the blanket as more heart-breaking sounds fell from his mouth.

 

She sat down next to him on the couch, skillfully stepping past the vomit on the floor. She smoothed his hair out of his face, finding his forehead alarmingly warm as she did.

 

Tommy groaned once, pressing his body into the gentle touch as his eyes fluttered open. They were glazed over and bloodshot. His voice shook as he talked, obviously straining under the trouble it took him to speak. “I’m sorry.” He cried weakly.

 

She looked down at him, feeling tears of her own well up. “It’s fine, baby.”

 

He shook his head, face flushed and snot running, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He cried again and again. He tried to propel his body off the couch, pitifully slumping back each time. It took her a moment to see that he was reaching for something; the towel and paper towels that had been sitting on the end table were just out of his reach. 

 

“Tommy,” She placed one firm hand on his chest, pushing him to lay down, “I said it’s fine. Just lay down and I’ll clean that up.”

 

This seemed to upset him even more, causing the sobs to grow louder and his head shaking more violent. “I’m sorry”s slipped out between heaves of air. She didn’t know what to do. 

 

She wanted to wrap him up into her arms, and to hide him away from all the pain and nightmares he seemed too face. She wanted him to stop crying and to stop panicking but most of all she wanted to be able to help him. She felt out of her depth, cursing herself for not being able to help her sou- her son. He was her boy and obviously needed his mother. 

 

She shushed him again, lifting a hand to his head and silently knocking him out. It would give him a headache when he woke but it was better than the frightened tears and whimpers that seemed to flood from his mouth. 

 

Determined, she turned to the vomit and got to work. It was in that moment that she knew what to do. She would be the parental figure that Tommy needed, even if neither of them knew how to be a family.

 

…

 

Tommy’s fever broke sometime that afternoon. It was in between Wanda running to take a quick shower and her walking to the mini-mart on the corner to buy soup. He sweated through his own shirt- and deodorant but Wanda decided to ignore that fact -and was shifting restlessly under Purrtro’s gentle ministrations of a cat paw massage. The yelp from the living room while Wanda was heating up a can of chicken noodle soup told her that Tommy had shifted a bit too much and Purrtro had decided to dig in his claws. An amatuer mistake that she was sure Tommy would learn not to make again. 

 

“Wanda?” She heard Tommy groan from the other room, his voice sounding rough. 

 

“Yeah?” She called back, turning down the stove so she could walk into the living room. Tommy was still wrapped up in her blankets, nestled into the cushions of the couch. He looked at her with squinted eyes and flushed cheeks. 

 

“Where’s my bag?” He asked, trying to get back but falling back with another groan. He lifted one hand to his head, rubbing at his temple. She felt a bit guilty for that.

 

“Still by the door where you threw it last night.” She answered, walking to grab it anyways. Once she was close enough, Tommy shoved a hand into it, pulling out a pair of glasses and quickly shoving them on his face.

 

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.” He told her, turning his head to glare at her cat. “You’re as big of a dick as your namesake.”

 

Purrtro blinked at him slowly in return, digging claws into the sensitive skin of Tommy’s stomach. 

 

“Hey,” Tommy called as she turned to go back into the kitchen, “Thanks, for, you know…”

 

She gazed back at him, taking in the shyness of his tone accompanied with the darkening of his ears. She stared at him a minute longer, wanting to say so many things but none coming to mind.

  
“You're my son,” She told him instead, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. He flinched at the sentence, and she dutifully ignored the sudden wetness at the corners of his eyes. “I’d do anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ gaysupersoldiers.tumblr.com
> 
> feel free to come throw headcannons or prompts at me pls


End file.
